Sunset Valley What the future says,

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— he looks at her the way a wounded beast might look at a blade it once called its own.
he feels only a malevolence as she once more speaks of him upon her tongue. he thinks that he might rip his own ears from his head should he hear it again.
then let him come, morwenna. words come as a grating hiss. he moves closer but it is not to embrace her, to kiss her. he pushes past her not harshly but to feel the electric that tingles when onyx meets ebony. i will kill him a thousand times. but i tire of speaking of him. he is gone. let him rot.
he cannot waste energy hating. if he hates, he will be consumed.
his spine stiffens. he finds her eyes, head turning to look back over scarred shoulder. crimson eyes burn with something sharp, unburied. the wind curls between them, but it cannot steal the heat now rising from him.
say what you want of me.